


Trouble in Paradise

by feathertail



Series: Firefighter Spot [3]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Post original fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:01:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12777453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathertail/pseuds/feathertail
Summary: Seb finds out he's adopted. He's not very happy.Seb is early teens here (whatever age American kids learn about sex education)





	Trouble in Paradise

Spot and Race’s relationship had caused problems for their son right from the start, really. From the strange looks Spot got when he turned up to pick up Seb from school until the moms around him realise, “Oh, they’re like _that_...”, to the meetups with other parents where, inevitably, someone would ask, “So... who’s the woman in your relationship?”, there was always something going on. And usually they could figure it out before it got too upsetting for Seb, like the homophobic teacher he got in middle school who they got fired within two weeks of Seb’s class starting there. This time, though. Not so much luck.  
  
As typical for children of his age, Seb had just undergone a sex education class. However, it raised a few questions, as the focus had mainly been on heterosexual relationships and how babies were made - presenting a problem for Seb, with two fathers, no mother, and suddenly a lot of confusion. Race wasn’t home when he walked in the door, but his other father was, splayed out on the couch, hair damp from a shower - he’d evidently been called out during the day.  
“Hey,” he greeted awkwardly, fiddling with his bag strap. “Uh, Da, can I talk to you?”  
Spot roused himself and sat up, ruffling a hand through his hair. “Sure,” he nodded, patting the seat opposite him. “What’s up with yous, kiddo?”  
Seb sat awkwardly, fiddling even more now. “We, uh, learnt stuff at school today,” he started, and Spot resisted the urge to pull a dad joke, letting him continue. “About, um, how babies are made.”  
  
Spot internally winced. He’d told Race they probably needed to talk to Seb about this soon, before someone accidentally broke it to him and he reacted badly.  
“So... I know you’ve had me since birth, obviously, there’s photos everywhere, from the hospital to now. And you’re both in them too, I just-”  
And Spot knew from his face that this couldn’t wait for Race, he was confused and possibly hurting, and his husband could be hours for all he knew.  
“Okay, kiddo. Listen to me, okay? Let me finish, don’t run off.”  
Seb nodded, sitting forwards in his seat, still fiddling anxiously.  
  
“I suppose yous already knows that two guys can’t biologically create children. And, well, yous isn’t biologically either of ours, we-” he broke off as Seb stood up, shouting semi-incoherently about ‘what the fuck’ (reiterating that at the reprimand he got for language), ‘how could you not tell me’ and ‘I never felt like I fitted in’ and ran off.  
  
“Seb, wait!” Spot cried, jumping to his feet, only to hear his son’s door slamming upstairs. “Kiddo!” He pelted up the steps, and skidded to a stop outside his room. He knocked tentatively, worried. “Seb, I asked you to let me finish...” He tried the handle, but to no avail - locked. “Seb, please, let me in. You know we only agreed to the lock because of privacy.”  
“Well I need privacy now!” Seb yelled back, and it was obvious from the way his voice cracked that he was tremendously upset.  
“Seb, come on, just let me explain-”  
“What more is there to explain?!”  
“Seb, love, c’mon...”  
  
But there was no more debate in the matter, and Spot sat outside his son’s door for an hour before knocking again. “Kid, you’ve got until your dad gets home to calm down and get out, okay? I’ll leave you alone now.”  
  
As soon as he was downstairs he broke down, closing the kitchen door so Seb couldn’t hear his distress. He didn’t need that too. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, blinding him, so that when he slammed his fist down on the table, he didn’t see the glass lightbulb he’d shattered with the force of his punch. It was only when he’d started to calm down and the adrenaline had started to fade that he realised the stabbing pain in his hand was actually pain and not psychological.  
  
And it was how Race found him, when he came home, a pair of tweezers in one hand, picking shards of glass out of the other, red-eyed and obviously upset. He rushed to his husband’s side, insisting on taking him to the hospital, but Spot refused.  
“You need to talk to Seb. He’s been locked in his room for a good two hours now. I fucked up, Race, please,” he said, desperation thick in his voice.  
So for the second time that afternoon, a father pelted up the stairs to look for his son, to try and resolve the situation. He knocked gently, then more insistently.  
“Seb? Honey, what’s wrong?”  
No answer.  
"Seb, what's wrong? Just talk to us, sweetheart. Whatever it is, we won't be mad, promise. Your dad and I love you more than anything."  
Still no answer.  
  
Race was growing steadily more anxious, and Spot ascended the stairs to help, bloodstained cloth pressed to his hand injury. “Kid, I said you had until your dad got home to get out. Don’t make me get the master key.”  
That got an answer. “He’s not my dad!” The way his son’s voice cracked meant he was obviously still very upset, and likely still crying. “And neither are you!”  
Race’s voice gentled, always the more soothing of the two of them. “Seb, love. Of course we are. We love you more than anything, darling. We’d do anything for you. You _are our son_. Now, please, come out?”  
  
Finally, _finally,_ the lock clicked open, and Race saw his son, enshrined in all the warm clothes he owned, tear-striped, and looking only slightly less worse for wear than his husband. “You sure?” he mumbled, and at Race’s teary nod, he had his arms full of child. Spot smiled gently, padding over to kiss the top of his head. They were okay, for now.


End file.
